Flash! Fiction by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

7

Maybe there are patterns to be discovered, which will tell me something about our hosts. I wonder whether he reads literature, and whether it’s ancient or modern, poetry or prose, European or American. Perhaps she reads English history or East German literature or parapsychology.

Maybe hidden in the books is a history of their travels. Books stamped with book dealers’ addresses in Buenos Ares, Hong Kong, London, Sydney, New York, and New Delhi.

Maybe the bookshelf wraps around the room. I’ve never seen one of those in person. How many volumes would it hold? Maybe there’s a second floor or even a third floor, with sliding ladders on each floor and a spiral staircase connecting all of the levels, each with a hidden door for secret entry and exit.

I had no idea they were so interested in books. Maybe I misjudged them. Maybe we should get to know them better. Maybe we could have them over for dinner sometime, invite them to the cottage, to the theatre, or even sailing.

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by my wife who is standing over me in the study, two steps from where I started on my journey to the library.

“Honey! Honey, what’s wrong? How long have you been lying there? You forgot your medicine again, didn’t you? We’ll have to cancel dinner and get you to the hospital right away.”

First published in Daily Flash 2011: 365 Days of Flash Fiction.